


Candy

by MariusCreb



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6527611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariusCreb/pseuds/MariusCreb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Byron and Triana reminisce about Tatiana.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Venture Bros and the characters in this story are property of Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer.  
> This story's old, but it's one of my favorites that I've written. Loosely inspired by the Iggy Pop song of the same name. I wrote it before we ever saw Tatiana or The Outrider, so keep that in mind.

Doctor Byron Orpheus sat in his study facing the window. Raindrops hit the fogging glass and slid down. Despite what initial impressions might imply, he preferred sunshine. He never minded the rain, he just liked sunlight better. Today, however, the weather was unequivocally gloomy.

He didn't know what made him do it. Unknowable forces drove his hand, and he turned to open the desk drawer. His long, slender fingers leafed through bits of paper memento: a few poems he had abandoned, crayon drawings Triana did when she was a child, a few Christmas cards he found especially charming, and... “I still have this?” he wondered. He pulled out a manila folder with “Her” handwritten in looping script on the tab. He thought for sure he had thrown it out when he moved in to the Venture Compound. He opened the folder, and found legal documents concerning the divorce, old family photos, even a letter he wrote to her asking for her hand in courtship.

“This must be twenty years old,” he said to himself aloud, picking up the letter to read it. Each sentence was like a time capsule, written by his younger, more naive self as a cautionary fairytale. The letter had been written, as was everything Byron did, with dramatic flair. The first paragraph alone brought pangs of nostalgia and even heartache, but he forced himself to continue.

Why had she left him? He had been so in love with her; nothing proved this better than the letter in his hand. He told her how he felt about her in so many words, and he sincerely meant every syllable of each one. How, then, could she have been dissatisfied? When the pain of their separation was still fresh, he harbored a deep hatred toward the young necromancer for whom his wife had left him, but as time passed, he realized she would not have been so easily seduced if his relationship with her had been stable. But when did it become unstable?

He set down the letter and picked up one of the photographs. Triana was only a baby when it was taken, and her mother was cradling her in her arms with a sincere smile spreading across her face. Byron was standing next to her with one arm resting on her shoulders and the other reinforcing the arms supporting their infant daughter. Fatherhood had always been one of his greatest joys, and this family portrait left no ambiguity about that.

Byron had almost forgotten how beautiful she was. She was very pretty, but not conventionally so. She was tall for a woman, but she still only reached his neck. He was so enraptured with her when they met. He even gave up his adventures with the Order of the Triad to be with her. Jefferson and the Alchemist weren't pleased about parting with their friend, but, ultimately, they were happy for him. Though their own life-long goals differed, they understood how important it was to Byron to settle down and raise a family. They participated in the wedding, and were even present during the first year of Triana's life before they fell out of touch.

He found his free hand clenching into a fist, his overgrown fingernails digging into his palm. He had chosen her over his two best friends, but she couldn't chose him over some youthful stranger? As his eyes absorbed the bittersweet photograph, they became hot, began to sting. Despite his best efforts, a single tear rolled down his gaunt face.

\---

Triana sat on her bed staring in to space. Her gaze was fixed on a photo in a silver frame on her dresser. She didn't really pay it much mind until full consciousness reclaimed her and she remembered what it was. She and her mom were crouching in the sand building castle, and clear blue water stretched to the horizon. Her dad took it during one of their beach vacations on Orpheus Island. She was about three years old at the time.

She exhaled heavily through her nose. It had hurt so much when she left. When she was a child, her parents managed to keep most of their marital problems hidden from her. She didn't learn the whole story about their divorce until years later, but none of it would have mattered when she was a little girl. All that mattered to her was that her mother tucked her in one night, and when she woke up, she was gone.

At first, she didn't believe it. She thought for sure her mother had just gone on a trip, and she would be back any day. She told herself that her mom needed a break from her dad, but eventually she'd come back and they'd both realize they had behaved like silly grown-ups. When her mother had been gone five months, she began what would become long series of blame for her mother's absence. First she hated her mother for abandoning her, but then she started to condemn her father. She rationalized that if he had treated her better, she could have stayed. She even felt proud of her mother for liberating herself from a loveless marriage. Shortly afterward, for one reason or another, she would decide to forgive him and turn the blame to herself. Maybe if she had been a better daughter, if she had gone to bed when she was told, if she hadn't refused to pick up her toys, if she hadn't pleaded so fervently for a kitten she didn't end up taking care of, her mom might have loved her more. When she realized it wasn't her fault and there was nothing she could have done, she returned to hating her mother. This cycle lasted for most of her childhood.

Some days, it felt like the memories of her mother haunted her. Since they moved in to the Venture Compound, it wasn't as bad. It was unbearable in the old house. She had gotten so used to seeing her mom curled up on the couch with a book, sitting at her vanity desk brushing her hair, sitting beside Triana's bed reading stories and tucking her in.

She and her father helped each other overcome their common sorrow. She had to admit, her dad had done a pretty good job of raising her on his own. Of course it was tough growing up without motherly affection, but her dad had always been rather maternal for a man. It was thanks to him that the pain had eased. Though she knew it was unlikely, she did still hope that one day the doorbell would ring, and there would her mother, as gorgeous as ever, begging forgiveness, which would be granted, and things could be the way they were before.

She sighed and got up to go to the kitchen and make herself a snack. When she walked past her father's study, she thought she heard a muffled whimper. Concerned, she lingered outside the door. The sound coming from the other side was unmistakably soft sobbing. She paused, unsure whether he wanted comfort or solitude. At length, she decided to push the door ajar and peak inside the study.

“Dad?” she said quietly, “Are you all right?”

Startled, Byron wiped his tears on the sleeve of his dinner jacket and sputtered, “Why, yes, Pumpkin, I was just reading, and...it's a very old book, you see...I must have gotten dust in my eyes.”

That didn't stop Triana from noticing the photograph in his hand. She approached him slowly. “Dad,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “It's okay. You can tell me about it. I miss her, too.”

He stood and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Her response was to wrap her arms around his torso; they both needed a hug. His warm, paternal embrace brought back every memory of comfort following skinned knees, twisted ankles, traumatizing character deaths in Disney movies. With that, the usually stoic goth began to weep as well. There they stood, father and daughter. Of course life was crazy, and they were both deeply scarred when She left, but they had each other, and they knew they always would.

Finally, Byron wiped his tears on the back of his hand and broke the silence. “It's nearly lunch time. Are you hungry?”

“I was just on my way to the kitchen. I was going to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” she replied.

He smiled and stroked her glossy dark purple hair. “No, no, that won't do at all. I believe there are still several red bell peppers in the refrigerator. I think they'd be quite delightful roasted and served over orzo.”

“Sounds great,” she chuckled as they made their way to the kitchen.


End file.
